I closed my eyes and let the flow of his voice surround me and drive away the frustration. Adam was right. I wasn't suited for going after a vampire, any vampire, and certainly not one aided by a demon. I'd just have to be satisfied when Warren or Stefan did it. If Ben killed Littleton, though… I didn't know if that would satisfy me. I hated to owe Ben any more than I already did.

Adam hung up the phone. I heard the quiet sound of his feet walking toward me on the padded floor, and the hiss as the mat gave way when he sat beside me. After a moment he untied the top of my gi and pulled it off, leaving me in my T-shirt and white gi pants. I let him do it.

"Passive isn't like you," he said.

I growled at him, though I didn't open my eyes. "Shut up. I'm wallowing in misery, here. Have a little respect."

He laughed and rolled me over until my face was pressed into the sweat-scented mat. His hands were warm and strong as they dug into the tense muscles of my lower back. When he dug into my shoulders, I went boneless.

At first he was all business, finding the knots left by sleepless nights and days of physically demanding work. Then his hands softened and the brisk rubs became light caresses.

"You smell like burnt oil and WD-40," he said, a smile in his voice.

"So plug your nose," I retorted. To my dismay, it came out with more sugar than vinegar.

I was so easy. One back rub and I was his. My susceptibility to him was the reason I'd been avoiding him. Somehow, lying on my face with his hands on my back, it didn't seem like a good enough reason.

He didn't smell of burnt oil, but of forest, wolf, and that exotic wild scent that belonged only to him. His hands slipped under my tee and spread wide over my lower back then feathered over my bra strap. I could have told him that sports bras don't have clasps, but then I'd have to take an active part in my own seduction. I wanted him to be the aggressor—a small part of me, the very small part of me that wasn't turning to jelly under his hands, wondered why.

I didn't want to delegate responsibility, I decided lazily. I was more than willing to accept responsibility for my own actions—and allowing him to slide his warm, calloused hands into my hair was certainly an action on my part. I loved a man's hands in my hair, I decided. I loved Adam's hands.

He bit the nape of my neck and I moaned.

The door between the garage and the house popped open suddenly. "Hey Dad, hey Mercy."

Ice water couldn't have been more effective.